Sliding Doors

My face blazed with humiliation. I could feel the heat smoldering from underneath my crimson cheeks. My eyes were focused on the sliding doors. I watched with distress as they opened, then tried to close, then opened again. They were clearly confused as half my body was on the sensor prompting them to do their job. I tried to untangle the mess I was in, all the while focusing on the perplexed doors. The smell of hot concrete and bubble gum filled my senses as I noticed a wad of chewed up Hubba Bubba uncomfortably close to my cheek. My eyes, frantic and confused, glanced around at all my personal belongings; once tucked safely in my bag, now scattered amongst the dirt and asphalt. I could see the shoes of bystanders as they walked around me. I am sure a multitude of thoughts were running amuck as they stared down at the embarrassing mess displayed at their feet. Embarrassment was an understatement. The only thing I could think as I felt their eyes burning a hole into the back of my head was “Please! For the love of all that is holy…do not acknowledge my existence!”

My morning had started out on the right foot. It was a gorgeous spring day. The warm breeze on my face made my heart sink a little knowing that I had to go into work. It was always a disappointment to have to work on a Saturday, but I was the lowest on the totem pole, so had no choice. I worked as a receptionist for a small real estate office which was conveniently located about a half mile up the street from where I lived. Since I felt it was too beautiful outside to drive, I decided that my options were to walk, or ride my mountain bike. Being the owner a mountain bike was not my idea, I was never very comfortable with it, I believed deep down in my heart of hearts that I could die a happy woman having never owned one, but my boyfriend wanted me to be able to participate in an activity he enjoyed, so here I was…the owner of a mountain bike. I figured that if I rode rather than walked, it would allow me some extra time to stop in at the local market and get something for my lunch break. That option sounded better to my taste buds than left over spaghetti.

I locked the front door on my way out, and strategically draped my purse over one of the handlebars. I carefully stepped over the frame and straddled the seat. I couldn’t help but flush a little at the idea of how ridiculous I must have looked on a bike with my flowy dress and strappy sandals, but it was too late to worry about it now, so I slipped my feet into the pedal straps and cautiously teetered down the driveway toward the street.

Things were rolling along nicely. The breeze felt amazing as it blew through my hair, and the gleaming sun warmed my skin. I was feeling confident in my decision to ride the bike, and even started convincing myself that riding to work every day would be a good idea, but that good feeling was fleeting as I approached the store parking lot, and anxiety set in. I nervously prepared myself for the task of turning into the parking lot, and bravely maneuvered the bike around the curve with only a slight wobble. A smile broke across my concentrated face and I felt quite proud as I gradually slowed, preparing to stop. The sliding doors were up ahead giving me a sense of accomplishment and relief. As I attempted to pull my foot out of the pedal strap my body stiffened in horror! The feeling of relief was instantly replaced with alarm as I realized the strap on my sandal and the foot strap on my pedal had chosen that very moment to intertwine themselves like tangled yarn. Frantically I pulled and pulled, but nothing! With high hopes, I switched over to my left foot, and panicked, realizing it was stuck as well.

The blood in my body rushed from my head to my feet as I realized I had slowed too much to be able to start peddling again. In unison, and what also felt like slow motion, the bike and my body tipped toward the ground. I sat there helpless, my white knuckles gripping the handlebars, and my body stiff in preparation for the inevitable. 3…2…1…and I was down for the count.

As soon as my body hit the ground my right sandal and pedal strap decided it was a good time to unravel themselves. I guess they figured they’d had their fun, and at my expense nonetheless. I swung my free leg frantically in the air trying to figure out how to get up with the other side of my body still pinned beneath the bike. I could feel that my dress had flittered its way up to my waist, so the first job appointed to my free hand was to cover up my indecent exposure. There was no time to dwell on the humiliation I felt, so the plan now was to simply get myself out of this mayhem at any cost. I twisted and shimmied my body until I could get my left knee to a bent position, I then, placed my hand on the ground, allowing me enough leverage to finally stand up.

I dare say that anyone with some sense would have jumped right back onto that bike and quickly pedaled themselves as far away as they could from that mortified display, oh ho ho, but not me, oh no, I was a glutton for punishment, so I gathered up my belongings, picked up the bike and wheeled it over to a newspaper stand positioned to the right of the market doors. I could feel the asphalt scrapes burning like fire on my knee and elbow, but since there wasn't anything warm and wet dripping down my leg I figured; no blood, so no need to draw any more attention to myself by investigating my wounds.

I held my head high, trying desperately to ignore the workers and patrons who were clearly staring as I walked in the door. The coolness of the air conditioning felt refreshing as I played the scenario over and over in my head. The more time that ticked by, the more I started to feel less like a clown who had captivated an audience, and more like someone who was just part of the crowd. I suppose time really does heal all wounds, or in my case, a wounded ego.

I finished my shopping, purchased my items, and then swiftly left, managing to get out of there without making eye contact with anyone. I carefully balanced the grocery sack on the handlebar opposite my purse, and sat down on the seat. I said a silent prayer, knowing the weight of the groceries would have me a bit off balance, but hoping I would make it to work without another incident. I gently began to pedal away, and made sure of one thing, to never put my strappy sandals back into those stupid pedal straps ever again!